


Eyes (Un)Seeing

by vanitaslaughing



Series: The Paths We Walked [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 13:45:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6378214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanitaslaughing/pseuds/vanitaslaughing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Azure Dragoon is not supposed to think too hard about mistakes, or care about anything but killing dragons - except sometimes they just happen to care. In Alberic's case it unfortunately is a child he essentially orphaned with his own hands (which the kid does not know at all), and is confronted with his conscience and duty at the same time.</p><p>He had no idea what that kid would eventually grow up to be.</p><p>DISCONTINUED. MOTIVATION SMASHED AND SHATTERED AGES AGO.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ferndale, the beginnings

_They stand opposite each other, with the adventurer just slightly behind the older man. Alberic is quite sure that if Estinien removed his helm, his eyes would be burning the same way they did when he returned after he had slain his first dragon, the same way they did when he had been appointed Azure Dragoon, the same way they had done throughout his entire life. But the younger man makes no move. The way he stands there, unmoving, makes it rather clear that Estinien is not out for rational discussion. Alberic has known this man - this boy - long and well enough to know when he is looking for a fight._

_"Estinien, be reasonable," the adventurer chimes in after a while, but the Azure Dragoon simply grinds his teeth._

* * *

 

Smoke was rising from across the hills. Alberic has seen enough Dravanian attacks to know that there was nothing left to salvage. Except this time was different. He himself had stopped the group dispatched to track Nidhogg and hopefully prevent any carnage on this scale. All because the Eye had been acting up, and it had become increasingly difficult to keep its powers in check.

This one half of a day wasted because of hesitation had now most likely cost every single person in this village their lives. The entire group had frozen for a second, but now the younger knights were breaking into sprints. The older, much more experienced knights however walked on slowly, mechanically. They knew what they had to expect from Ferndale - ruins, smoldering remains of what used to be daily life, bodies littered across the floor like discarded puppets.

Alberic decided to hurry ahead, fearing that there were Dravanians still left in the village and that his young knights were but another target today.

The village was exactly as he had expected it to be. Although nothing was in flames due to the heavy rains that had hit the region in the last few days, there were clear signs of fire being used to relentlessly destroy everything in its path. And when fire had lost against wood drenched in water, giant bodies had taken care of the rest.

His entire body was numbing as he walked through the remains of what appeared to have been a lively village somewhere in this Western Highlands. It was a remote place, not exactly little but not yet big enough to be considered a town either. All he saw were remains of pretty common lives. Even the livestock in the village had not been spared, dead sheep littered the ground, sprawled in-between charred corpses.

It was eeriely quiet as even the younger knights had stopped to watch the ruins in silent terror.

Alberic Bale, Azure Dragoon of his generation, simply walked on in almost desperate belief that there was something, anything, still alive. At some point he reached the end of the village, with a formerly beautiful house standing there as an empty huskof what it had once been. The roof had given in, and the fence had been splintered. Somewhere shortly before the fence lay a pair of Wildwood Elezen, a man and a woman. The man had seemingly tried to protect the woman, but the way they were lying it was pretty clear they had been dead before they had even hit the ground. It was quite clear the woman used to have brilliant white hair, but now in death all there was was the colour of soot. Bile rose in Alberic's throat as he marched on.

Something about this place urged him to do so.

A few heartbeats later he saw why his instinct had done that. Half buried underneath the caved-in roof was a small child, barely older than five. While that Elezen was clearly dead just as their parents were, there was something else leaning against the remains of the house. Much to his surprise that child, a boy not much older than seven, blinked open his eyes and moved slightly.

There was the dull shine of a child suffering from shock in his eyes, but his chest was moving. The boy was breathing.

"Oh, Fury above," he cursed under his breath and hurried over to the child's side. He was completely unharmed aside from being covered in soot and his eyes simply staring past the man now beside him. Considering that Ferndale produced a lot of woolen products, the child had most likely been out shepherding when the dragons struck, and had returned to the village and his entire life already gone.

Gently, almost as if he was afraid to break the kid, he put a hand on his shoulder. The kid actually reacted and finally lifted his head a little to look at the stranger in front of him.

"Child, are you unhurt?" It was a redundant question, but Alberic would rather have an answer to a stupid question than have the silence of death for an anwer.

The boy slowly shook his head, accompanied by a helpless and powerless shrug.

"... I see. Please, hate me for it all you want, but we need to get out of here."

For a moment panic flashed in the child's eyes as he looked over to his brother's body, but Alberic did not have the time for this now that he had found a shellshocked survivor. The sooner a Chirugeon looked at this boy the better, and there was still the chance of the Horde returning. He gently picked the boy up and hurried back to the group. The surprised gasps when they saw the Azure Dragoon return with a survivor stung worse than the fact this boy had to survive all of this.

* * *

The march back started the next day. The sky was surprisingly free of Dravanians this time around, although there were heavy clouds drifting in. It would start raining before long, and Alberic worried that if the rain got too heavy they might not be able to cross one of the rivers they had to wade across to get back to Ishgard. The child he had picked up in the village was still eeriely quiet and simply followed the group with his gaze cast to the ground. Although he had not spoken a single word so far he had almost vehemently disagreed with being put on one of the Chocobos, and thus was now stubbornly following the knights of Ishgard.

Alberic caught himself throwing glances over his shoulders more than he wanted to, until after four hours or marching one of the senior knights put a hand on his shoulder.  
"Ser Bale, mabye 'twould be best if you actually stayed close to the child if you feel so anxious about him. I can take the lead, fear not."

"Azure Dragoons are not--"

"Supposed to care about things other than killing dragons, yes. But at the end of the day you still are human, Ser Bale, and Ferndale was anything but a pretty sight. Please, if it eases your mind, stay with the kid. It does not look like we will run into much trouble aside from rain on our way back to the Holy See."

The Azure Dragoon blinked slowly before nodding and falling back until he was walking next to the kid. The only thing he heard was a silent, almost offended huff, and then they continued their march in silence.

It wasn't until they were due to arrive at Falcon's Nest in the nest few hours that the guilt set in. If he had ignored the Eye and pressed on, he could have saved at least parts of Ferndale and spared this kid (who was currently asleep and finally on the back of a Chocobo) the pain of losing everything. The Dragoon actually froze in his steps when he remembered the boy's home and what had remained of his house and family.

"Remain calm, Alberic. Things like this happen in a war, maybe they'd just have died another way during that attack. Once you're in Ishgard you can find a nice adoptive family for the boy and make sure that nothing else happens to him," he told himself as Falcon's Nest appeared in the distance. If only he had known...


	2. Ishgard, confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (half-assed apology for the big writer's block i managed to work myself into after posting the first chapter of this goes here)  
> i mean, it got so bad i didnt even manage to, like, get names for the Two Entire Characters for this chapter. thats how bad it was
> 
> at the very least some kinda switch got flipped in my brain and it all poured out today... orz

It wasn't as cold here.

That was the first thought he had when he followed the dragoons into the Holy See. Granted, his entire body was numb anyway, so it didn't really matter to begin with, but despite the Holy See's position somewhere in what felt like thin air, it wasn't cold. With the constant rain the Highlands had just been agonisingly frigid lately - yet that didn't even stop the houses from smouldering. He felt bile rise in his throat, but shook his head. That dragon was going to pay for this.

He knew full well which day it was, and it made his aching heart ache even more. Freinnoix had been looking forward to it with the same childish excitement as he lived his entire life so far - and yet here Estinien was, all on his own, in the Holy See.

They had agreed that for the youngest family member's birthday they would go visit a friend of his father's. Neither child had been in the city yet, and even for residents of a small and removed village like Ferndale it was odd, to say the least. So they had agreed on making this a birthday trip of some sort, and even though it was mostly about his father's friend and Freinnoix, Estinien had looked forward to it.

He had not planned on coming here all on his own, however, his cold hands shaking and his eyes simply staring past everything. It hurt more than he wanted to admit. He was here, but where was the rest of his family?

He didn't want to think about that.

He truly, absolutely, did not want to think about it, although it would never stop haunting him or his nightmares.

Where were these men even going? He couldn't exactly ask them, seeing as his voice still refused him. One of them was wondering if the boy had ever been to the Holy See, and Estinien just wanted to scream. Whether it was out of agony or the sheer hilarity of this situation, he didn't know - he didn't really care, either. He simply followed the man who had carried him out of the smouldering remains of Ferndale, the man who had seemingly cared more than the other men and women in their spiny and spiky armour.  
They were talking to the man now. Something about if it was truly wise to bring that child with them. Estinien knew he was 'that child', and he already felt that this was going to be painful. The man refused them, claiming that Estinien was vital to the report he was going to make to... the Lord Commander?

He shook his head slightly. That was just a bad dream, he wasn't going to be taken to the Lord Commander, and Ferndale wasn't burned down.

He had simply overslept on Freinnoix's birthday. Any moment now his brother would burst into his room, pull the blanket off his shoulders, and call him a sleepy heathen. Any time now... any time now...

* * *

 

The boy stared blankly into the air as he made his report, and it made Alberic kind of jittery. It was clear this boy needed some sort of positive attention, but there was nothing he could do until the report was finished. Much to his distress, the Lord Commander took a moment before dismissing him, and Alberic almost hurriedly grabbed the kid by the hand and almost dragged him out of the office. Thankfully his unit had left for their homes already.

Which meant he was alone with the only survivor of his mistake, and he thought he heard Nidhogg's amused cackle for a second. Alberic tried ignoring that as he almost desperately tried to flee the Congregation. He even ignored a former sparring partner who said hello as he passed him by. The boy simply followed - even through the haze of panic Alberic had to admit he was impressed. That kid had to be dead tired underneath the cloak of silence, yet he simply followed as the man finally admitted he had no idea where he was going and stopped dead in his tracks.

"'Tis most rare to see you in this part of Founda-- Alberic, is that a child?"

It was a very familiar and warm voice, and for once the Azure Dragoon was thankful for him subconsciously retracing steps when he was worried. The woman who had spoken hurried over to him and the boy, and he was so very glad to see these familiar brown eyes.

"Annaret. Full glad am I to see you."

The Hyuran woman simply put her hands on her hips as she looked at the man she had essentially grown up with. Normally they never ran into each other, but Alberic was very thankful that for once he had managed to run into her as they both paced through Foundation minding their own business. Only in that moment did he realise the boy was basically hiding behind him.

"Yes, you are quite correct."

"I had no idea you--"

"No, it is indeed a child, but not mine. Look at him, he's Elezen."

"Oh."

She tapped her chin, and the boy went out of her sight by basically clinging to the spines of his armour. Alberic got increasingly worried that the boy might cut himself there; and the way Annaret raised her eyebrow made it obvious she thought the very same in that moment.

"Perhaps it would be best if we went somewhere more private, and if you removed your armour first."

* * *

 

The house was in as much of a chaos as it had been the last time he had been inside. At least some things never changed, and Alberic was very grateful for that. It was comforting, in a way. Even if the dragons burned down Foundation, at least Annaret's rooms would be messy until the very moment they burned as well.  
The kitchen, at the very least, was orderly, and from there they had a good view at the boy, who had simply fallen asleep in a chair in the living room.

She sighed as she stirred her tea. "So, to summarise this. You brought this child to Ishgard because there was nothing else left to do?"

"Yes."

"Have you perhaps considered that leaving him in a neighbouring village would have been better? He might have known people there."

Alberic shrugged as he sipped his tea while trying to ignore her frown. "There were no neighbouring villages. I am quite sure you know of Ferndale and how removed it actually is. Leaving him in some other village on our way back would have been the same as bringing him to the Holy See with me. And if naught else, there's plenty of families around who lost their sons to the Dragonsong War and who might take care of a perfectly healthy boy such as him."

Annaret twirled a lock of her light brown hair as she sighed.

"That much is true, Alberic, but... have you seen this child's eyes? They're positively burning with a desire for vegeance and... that does not suit a child his age. It truly does not."

The Azure Dragoon hated admitting he had nod noticed that yet. Whenever he looked at the boy his eyes had been glazed over by what he had assumed was shock. It would've made sense if that had been utter rage amongst the shock - and it would not even have been uncommon. Plenty children in the Brume looked the same as him.

"Listen, Anna, it..."

"You had no plan, as usual."

"..."

She finished her tea with a long sip and then sighed. "You never planned ahead accordingly. Perhaps that is something that all Azure Dragoons share. But never mind that, there are much more important matters at hand. You wish to just hand him to some family? Alberic, have you seen the way he clung to you earlier?"

"..."

They both turned to look at the child. He looked positively peaceful for a second. Once said second was over, he scrunched up his face and snapped open his steel blue eyes. There was agony written all over his face as he looked around in a daze, obviously realising he was not in Ferndale in his room. But as it had been since he had found the kid, he did not utter a single tone, instead choosing to look around faster. Maybe he hoped this would all be a post-sleep illusion that would vanish if he shook himself awake fast enough.

Of course, no such thing happened, and after a minute he gave up. The agony was still plain on his face, but as Annaret had mentioned not too long ago, there was a dangerous glint in his eyes along with the shocked glaze. It truly did not suit a child of his age, and Alberic screwed up his face as the child had before he woke up.

"You are correct, it would be absolutely foolish to assume anyone would take care of yet another Dragonsong War orphan. It was--"

Annaret simply stood up and walked over to the boy, putting her hand on one of his trembling shoulders and gently asked if he wanted to drink anything. There was no answer, as before, but he blinked at her a couple of times before actually nodding slowly. Alberic raised an eyebrow - on their way to the Holy See the boy had not reacted to anyone but him asking questions and the like.

As she went to make yet another cup of tea, the kid sat down on the third and last chair at the table. He looked as lost as before, and simply stared at the table.  
"Alberic." Annaret set down a cup in front of the boy, and he turned to look up at her. "Until there is a solution, he can stay with me. Of course, only if he and you agree to that."

The Azure Dragoon turned to look up at Annaret as well, and both child and man were now looking at the woman with wide eyes.


	3. Ishgard, change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well that live letter was uh, a disappointment. at least nidhogg (and extreme) are confirmed and i already hate my fc because they're gonna drag me in a million times just to make me suffer  
> maybe i should actually lolgoon my way through the final steps of faith, since im the anti-lolgoon...
> 
> also if any of you guys ever come to my town and happen to be going into that small chapel-thing almost next to my house and then ring these goddamn bells without cease for 30 minutes i am going to come out of my room and murdering the hell out of you. im sure if i made a blood sacrifice to yoshi-p estinien might survive 3.3 and i have until june 7th to Do That.  
> come to the chapel in southern germany in the next 2 weeks for an ass kicking.

The city was different than he had expected. Naturally, as he came to realise much later, it was simply because he was overwhelmed by the sheer size of the city and the amount of people within its walls. He had grown up in a village, after all, and spent a lot of time out in the fields - whether on his own with the sheep, or together with his family.

The lack of the latter still stung. It hurt worse than he could ever admit aloud, if he had it in him to speak. Somehow, however, the woman he stayed with whenever Ser Alberic was out of town due to his duties as Azure Dragoon, always knew when he was silently gnawing away at his inner rage. She wasn't smothering him once she realised like his mother would have done in her almost overaffectional ways. No, Lady Annaret was subtle and gentle about her growing affections for him.

At first it had been bewildering, almost a little scary, but Estinien came to admit he enjoyed the woman's company. Where he had tried shoving her away and telling her to leave him alone for the first two months, after that time he let her stay. And once he permitted her to stay in his personal space, his unexpected and unwelcome life in Ishgard turned for the better.

Naturally, it did not make his general disposition change the slightest - he hated this city, he hated Dravanians even more - but at the very least his nightmares eased somewhat.

At the very least it became bearable. Estinien had never quite been the person to go out on his own, but even when his nightmares started getting less intense he only waited for wings to darken the skies again. His eyes were almost always cast heavensward when he was outside, aside from the odd nervous glance ahead of him. Annaret realised this after a few minutes. She simply walked in front of him whenever they were outside, as if to shield him from potential dragons.

Not unlike what his father had apparently attempted with his mother after they had left the house...

Winter passed slowly this time around. The Highlands would have been completely frozen over by the time the nightmares stopped, and Estinien's heart ached more than he admitted to. He had always been fond of snow and the quiet it brought. It snowed in Ishgard as well, the snowflakes swirled almost the same on the gusts as they did in the Highlands, but it wasn't the same. Not that he would say that (he did not speak, after all), but despite the familiarity of this situation it felt strange, foreign. He was a stranger in this city, after all, but the one place in Eorzea where he knew people and had the desire to know people was most likely going to be buried in snow, and the bodies would be frozen solid until Summer rolled around again.

Spring started as slowly as Winter had ended - Estinien stopped watching the skies anxiously at this point and started watching the city. People who knew Ser Alberic and Annaret seemed to comment on this unnaturally silent and seemingly almost angry child they were usually seen with, but Estinien didn't bother. He did not care the slightest, about pretty much anything.

It was also spring when the first person in his life told him the following words:

"You really need to do something about your hair."

He simply looked at Lady Annaret, who had seemingly become paler over the last few weeks. Yet she still smiled her gentle and caring smile whenever she was around him. Since his voice still refused him, all he did was raise one hand and play with a strand of his hair. It really had grown longer in that last year, and due to his sheer refusal to do anything with it other than tying it together loosely it looked and felt more like hay than anything else. Snow white hay, but that was beside the point. He narrowed his eyes at the woman, and she simply laughed.

"Please, I do not mean to insult you, my boy, but it really does look like you are on the run from the entire Horde."

_'Maybe I am, but not from them, but towards them,'_ he would have said if he could speak. Instead he simply rolled his eyes and shrugged.

It was also the first - and most definitely not the last - time someone forced him to sit down (and once he was a grown man, oft would someone use force to keep him in one place) and cut his hair.

People commented on the moody kid at least looking somewhat groomed now, and some of the more annoying people kept trying to coax him into speaking. Once they left, Lady Annaret would admit that these people were only allowed to be around because they had been friends of her late husband. Estinien admitted he simply didn't give a damn, but he had no way of forwarding this.

He wouldn't write or read, which became obvious mid-spring. Before he had made educated guesses and pretended to read whatever books people offered him, but his constant refusal to write down what he was thinking made the woman and the man taking care of him think.

It was a particularly rainy afternoon, with Ser Alberic tapping his chin in deep thought as he paced around the table in Annaret's kitchen.

"I figured he would be able to do both. I mean, sure, Ferndale was a removed little village, but..."

"Alberic. He's what, seven? Eight?" Annaret shrugged, and Estinien let out a soundless laugh. He was nine, actually, but everyone assumed he was seven for some reason. "There's no way children in remote villages learn how to write and read before the age of fifteen due to them helping out in the household or the village rather than studying."  
Both adults looked stumped, and Estinien was shaking in his chair from silent laughter. They looked at him, and it only made him laugh more than before, for some reason. It was just hilarious.

Although he was far away from actually liking this city, he at the very least liked the people he was with.

* * *

 

It was late spring when everything took a turn for the worse.

Lady Annaret was ill - very seriously ill. She had been getting paler and paler, and Estinien had noticed it. But there was nothing a child could do about it. At first she tried brushing it off, saying there was nothing to worry about. After three days he was worried, more worried than he could have ever put into words. Ser Alberic was out of town on another wild goose chasefor another two days at the very least, and Lady Annaret could not even walk for longer than five minutes. Although it was pleasantly warm in the Holy See, the woman was shaking and cold to the touch, and Estinien had no clue what to do.

On the fifth day he desperately tried to get someone to help him, but a mute kid could only get so far - after hours upon hours of getting lost, and trying to catch the attention of someone, Ser Alberic appeared in front of the utterly exhausted boy. Of course he could not explain what was happening, but Estinien immediately realised he would take him home again; back to exactly the person he had been trying to get help for.

On the tenth day, Estinien was starting to jump at the slightest noise inside the house. He had been alone for a while, with Ser Alberic bound by duty some longer, and Lady Annaret had been taken into the care of chirugeons. The silence in the house was eerie, and reminded him of Ferndale. It was the tenth night the nightmares returned, and Estinien woke in cold sweat in the middle of the night. But this time not a single person was around to pat him on the back and soothe him, and therefore his first and only instinct was blindly storming away.

The thirteenth night he spent sitting at the entrance to Ishgard. The Steps of Faith looked eerie, with the towers and statues, and the gentle shimmer of the magic wards that kept the Dravanians outside and the Ishgardians inside out of harm's reach. If only Ferndale had had something like that... he would not be sitting here, too worried to eat, too scared to sleep. It was one of the dragoons under Ser Alberic's command that found the shaking child and brought him back to Lady Annaret's house.

The next day, he thought he saw Nidhogg again, and for once he was thankful that he was unable to speak - he would have screamed until his voice was hoarse, after all.  
On the twenty-first day, Lady Annaret returned home, not pale anymore and as healthy as she had been when Ser Alberic had first met her in the streets of the Holy See with Estinien in tow. The nightmares stopped, after that, and Estinien got calmer again.

* * *

 

On the thirty-first day, Lady Annaret died.

* * *

 

Ironically enough, it was raining. Unlike last time, it was dark, and there were no dragons darkening the skies, it simply were clouds. Estinien was soaked to the bone, but he once more found himself unable to move. He had passed out next to Freinnoix back then. He was simply blankly staring at the grave he was sitting in front of this time.  
The walls of the Holy See seemed more like a cage now, because he wanted to flee this horrid place. But there was nowhere to go; he didn't belong with anyone in this place, or any other. He would end up in the infamous Brume, or dead after an Ixali raid, or carried off by dragons. Maybe heretics would put an end to his miserable existence instead once he left the Holy See. Or he could stick to adventurers.

None of the these options seemed like particularly good ideas, and he glared the stone with her name on it down.

Nobody quite dared approaching this shivering mess of a child, until in the evening he heard soft steps approach.

_'Can't be Ser Alberic. He wears armoured boots.'_

Much to his surprise, it was Ser Alberic after all who put a hand on his shoulder and sat down next to him.

"... I know it's hard for you. But you just sitting here in the cold wishing for someone or something to take you away like the dragons have taken everyone you knew and how this infernal sickness took her won't change a thing, child."

He shot a sideways glance at Ser Alberic before returning to stare at the stone.

"Come now. You'll just catch a cold if you're out here longer. She'd rise from the grave and knock my head clean off if I let that happen."

He let out a sigh at the same time as Alberic, and both looked at the grave for a few more minutes in complete silence, until Estinien moved slightly to lean against the man. The dragoon put an arm around the boy's shoulder.

"Nidhogg has gone back to hibernation."

"...?"

"That means there won't be any attacks led by the infernal wyrm himself for a while. It also means there's no need for an Azure Dragoon, so I stepped down from the position. You'll... you'll be able to live with me from now on, even if all I can offer you is either staying in Annaret's place, or me sleeping on the floor in my barracks and you get the bed. How's that sound, kiddo?"

He nodded. This man was the single person he knew in all of Eorzea now, and he knew he could trust him. All of a sudden it was as if the fog inside his mind cleared, and Estinien took a deep breath before he turned his head to look at Alberic.

"... Ser."

"...!" The man turned his head in surprise.

"My name is... Estinien."

It was a quiet, very hoarse sentence, but it was the first time he had spoken ever since he had begged Halone to spare his family.


	4. Ishgard, calm

Learning how to speak again took a while. Estinien at least made an effort to talk once more, but his voice was hoarse and silent for quite a while. Part of him knew he would never speak the same way he did in Ferndale, but surprisingly he was okay with that. That Estinien was dead, left behind in Ferndale next to Freinnoix's unmoving body.

* * *

 

He did not enjoy the Jeweled Crozier at all. The place was too full for his comfort, and everyone seemed completely and utterly absorbed in the purchases they either were going to make or had already made. Maybe it was again related to him having been born in and raised in Ferndale, but this entire place was amongst the strangest places to be in Ishgard. As much as Estinien hated it however, there was no way around it every once in a while.

He simply followed Ser Alberic around, glaring ahead as usual. At the very least being known for being a grouchy child had its positive sides - people stopped nagging him, Ser Alberic and a handful of dragoons he had gotten to know in the last two years excluded. Snarking angrily at his caretaker at least somewhat brought back a feeling of familiarity. Even if Ser Alberic was not Freinnoix.

Freinnoix would have liked this infernal place, Estinien came to realise. His younger brother had always enjoyed human contact, up to the point his older brother had sometimes shied away from being too close to him. They had been one of the most unusual pairs of siblings in Ferndale for the last few decades, the older townspeople often remarked with a laugh. An outgoing younger brother and a calm and collected older brother was already quite the strange sight to behold, but it had never really bothered either of the brothers. At the very least Estinien had assumed as much.

Now that he was past the ignorant childhood stage he started to realise how much it had bothered him to constantly be compared to the apparently more lively, outgoing, and sometimes even more intelligent younger brother of his.

He glared at Ser Alberic as the man took his sweet time trying to pick out some sort of fish from the stand they were at. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a movement and turned his head slightly to look at what was going on. Apparently one of the high ladies from around the place had shoved a young woman who looked rather sickly over, and a boy had started yelling at the high-born lady. Naturally such arguments were not unusual, with with a told of his head Estinien realised that the woman that was being screamed at by the boy was no one but Lady Fortemps. Surely that was not intelligent, he thought, until he took a closer look at the scene.

"Ah."

He had only heard of it so far, hushed whispers that swept across Congregation like a festering wound. Whispers of how yet another child was condemned a bastard-born - except in this case it was already confirmed that said child was a bastard. The whole concept was bewildering and hard to understand, but Estinien knew that people thought these children were naught but creatures born without the grace of Halone and their parents were the very same kinds of demons without Her blessing.

It was, in his humble opinion, a load of Chocobo dirt. Hard to understand but extremely vile Chocobo dirt.

At some point the High Lady of House Fortemps simply turned to gloating at the woman by now sitting on the ground while sadly trying to collect the shattered remains of what appeared to have been some sort of bottle. The boy beside her was bristling as the High Lady continued to gloat, a desperate glare in his tear-filled eyes.

The kid almost raised a fist against the Lady, but his mother stopped him in the last moment with a soft "Haurchefant, that is enough.", and she stood up.

Estinien only then realised that Ser Alberic and the woman beside them together with her son had also turned to look at the commotion, the fish long since forgotten.

Ser Alberic simply shook his head with a sigh. "I admire Count Fortemps for admitting it, but it may have been more wise to deny it in his case."

"Would that have really stopped the Countess and the rest of Ishgard?" The woman's voice was quiet and she let out a particularly deep sigh. "Once the rumour exists it will not stop haunting the people related to them, even if they are proven to be a hoax. And every single alleged bastard gets this disgusting last name."

Within a few moments the adults were discussing the whole bastard-born issue, and the children both let out a groan and instead turned to look at the fish their caretakers had been so interested in a few moments ago.

Estinien almost wanted to poke one of these scaly, shiny, slimy things, but he knew better than to touch something he did not own. Instead he shrugged at the salesperson when they asked if he wanted to know something about the fish. The boy beside him watched a still alive crab of a sort through narrowed blue eyes.

"Looks good. Maybe I should ask for that instead of the gross fish she usually gets..."

"I just wish they would stop gossipping like old women and get to the point," Estinien growled out and crossed his arms, and the boy let out a small laugh.

"Very true, very true. I am just afraid that is a topic mother is particularly passionate about. We... err, know people who have been accused of being bastard-born and everything and..." The boy fell silent after that and leaned forward so his black locks covered most of his face. Estinien shrugged again and turned back to glare a dead fish down (a fight he admittedly lost) while waiting for Ser Alberic to stop chattering like an old lady.

The other boy seemed deeply embarrassed by something and was openly relieved when his mother wished Ser Alberic a good day and left without buying any fish.  
Estinien almost wished they had come back and had gotten the other kid the crab he had wanted.

* * *

 

Alberic noticed it, despite what Estinien assumed he did.

The lack of social skills had been not too concerning when he was under ten, but now that he was about to turn twelve it became painfully obvious. Alberic was rather worried about it, since the kid was perfectly fine otherwise, but he rarely spoke unless spoken to, and he simply loathed social events.

Adding up to that was his wild and unkempt look, with his long hair pulled into a loose ponytail that had been slung over his shoulder.

"Estinien, we really ought to do something about your, err... looks."

The boy simply grumbled and avoided the former Azure Dragoon for the rest of the day.

* * *

 

"Beg pardon?"

"Please! Train me how to use a lance!"

It was the first time in a while that Estinien had spoken first, but the request of the boy had confused Alberic. He remembered Annaret's words about this child's eyes burning in a way that no child's eyes were supposed to burn, and finally he fully understood what she had meant back then. Estinien had carefully nurtured a desire for vengeance. One that now had fully grown along with the child and was on the verge of slipping into puberty.

He humoured Estinien's plea for a while, at least until he realised how dangerously good this kid became. It might have been natural talent, but the rage that drove the boy was obvious, along with the fact he buried himself in his training instead of doing something more sensibly such as properly learning how to write or at least trying to be somewhat social. At least the kid could read properly, but the writing was still a sore point. One the man had hoped Estinien would work on, but to no avail.

Maybe the desire to be a dragon-slaying dragoon was just another oddity that would leave with time, or so Alberic hoped. He offered the boy training with quite literally every weapon the Holy See had to offer, from the bow to something as barbaric as a mace, but nothing caught his attention like the spear. It mortified the former Azure Dragoon to a certain degree since he knew what exactly being a dragoon brought with it.

Estinien of course denied any wishes of becoming a dragoon, but it was quite easy to understand this kid now that they had lived together for almost three and a half years. As uneventful as it had been ever since the day Estinien spoke first, Alberic had almost gotten used to the gentle lull of having a stoically quiet child with him - at least until now.  
And once the horror subsided, Alberic had to admit that the kid was excellent. If he really wished to become a dragoon, then the order would gain a good new recruit.  
Had he only stopped Estinien and stomped all these desires out like an unwanted campfire.

* * *

 

Although it was a similar situation, it could not have been more different. Both women had died of the same sickness, and Estinien cursed himself that he did not recognise it when he had ran into the woman recently. Then again she had always looked rather frail and sickly, so it was incredibly hard to discern whether she had truly been sick or if she had just looked completely out of it again. Had they only listened to the boy's desperate pleas. Alas, no one listened to a bastard-born, and thus Haurchefant Greystone had been left alone with his dying mother and the deep, deep rage against the rest of the world that was familiar to Estinien.

It was quite obvious that this boy wanted someone, anyone to say something to him, but the few people that had even appeared said absolutely nothing and seemingly ignored the almost hysterically sobbing kid.

Now, Estinien knew better than to approach this. He had not been invited, and he had been sitting in front of Lady Annaret's grave the entire time, but it was hard to ignore the scene nearby.

Unlike when he had eventually sat down in front of the woman's grave, the sun was shining almost brutally today. Where Estinien had been soaked by the rain back then, Haurchefant was whimpering under the almost violently warm sun of this pleasant day.

Unlike with him, it did not take until the evening for someone to appear. Estinien's heart almost stopped when Count Fortemps appeared in the flesh and slowly but steadily made his way out of there. He really did not want to eavesdrop on the head of House Fortemps, truly, he did not.

* * *

 

It was the next day that he realised how thankful he was for the fact he was just a base-born child who had been taken in by the former Azure Dragoon back then. There was no peace with House Fortemps until Countess Fortemps, ironically enough, succumbed to the same sickness that had taken Lady Annaret's and Haurchefant's mother's lives. After that death, now with her younger son Emmanellain crying his eyes out, Artoirel de Fortemps and Haurchefant Greystone forged a truce which would last until the latter heroically lost his life atop the Vault.

Naturally with Artoirel realising that it had stopped being a truce and became something akin to kinship long ago.


	5. Coerthas Central Highlands, vanished

Something about the boy seemed to attract trouble no matter where he was. Alberic first noticed that a few months after Estinien had first voiced the desire to learn the art of the lance.

The summer in the highands was short and still relatively cold compared to any other Eorzean region's summers, but summer meant that along with the general Dravanian attacks the Ixal were on the move as well.

Naturally the beastmen were after the Gridanians, and nobody within Ishgard's walls ever made a move against the settlement in the Central Highlands; whereas many a birdman still took the opportunity to raid against the hated Spoken no matter their city state allegiance. While it was but a small trickle compared to the losses of the Dragonsong War it still meant that many an Ishgardian lost their life to something as silly as a simple beastman raid. Dravanians were cunning, the Ixal... much less so. Or so the Ishgardians assumed.

Nevertheless, Estinien had managed to slip out of Alberic's usually ever so watchful gaze during his time stationed at Camp Dragonhead (he did not have the heart to leave the boy alone in Ishgard), and after a few hours of searching the settlement for the child, a very mangled soldier stumbled into the camp.

Immediately several healers were summoned, trying to keep the man from Halone's Halls, while the current head of Camp Dragonhead tried to interrogate the man. Alberic already had the gut feeling that Estinien's mysterious disappearance would be linked to this, and lo and behold - once the man saw Alberic his already pale face went completely ashen.

"S-Ser... Bale's... s..."

Estinien did not call him father; but that did not stop anyone from calling them father and son. Alberic, not even thinking twice, bolted away in the direction the man had come from, grabbing naught but his spear on his way out of the camp. He barely even heard several people barking at him to stop and wait while the head of Camp Dragonhead organised a party.

A trail of blood led him further and further into the Highlands. He had stopped at Witchdrop and stared down the chasm in slight terror, almost expecting Estinien's broken form to lay at the bottom of the chasm. But there was nothing down there, and Alberic hurried onwards. He barely ever went in this direction, although he knew that Natalan lay beyond several rises and falls. Dragoons were taught how to kill dragons, not how to handle beastmen, and Alberic became very aware of that once he stumbled across the first arrow-spiked body laying in a fresh puddle of blood.

These feather-adorned arrows looked more like they had been made by a child than anything that had sentience enough to kill Spoken, but the way they had been shot made it rather clear that this had been the work of very skilled Ixali snipers. He scanned the sky quickly after sending a small prayer to Halone - a movement that every Ishgardian had ingrained into their very being. Dravanians had wings, after all, and Ixali used to have at some point in the past as well. Now these beastmen, that much Alberic knew, used balloons not unlike airships to still snipe their enemies from above.

He did not know that this had been the work of an on-foot raid en-route to Camp Dragonhead, but it would not have mattered much to him anyway. Estinien was his main concern.

* * *

 

It had been a game, at first. Like any child born and raised in Ferndale, he had been rather skilled with traversing mountain paths that karakul used - being the son of a shepherd, Estinien had been eeriely good at it to begin with. Bored out of his mind he had watched scouting party after scouting party leave the Camp, while Alberic did not pay attention to him at all - he had been way too busy with the dragoon trainees.

As he had sat there scowling and frowning, his legs dangling off the wall he had been perched on, someone approached him with a sheepish grin. It was just the son of some maid stationed here, but the boy and he were of the same age, and both had noticed each other's boredom as soon as they had first seen each other.  
Estinien, being kind of a loner and rather antisocial when it came to children (teenagers, actually) of his age, had at first ignored him. They had watched people leave and people come back, and eventually the boy spoke up.

"How about we try sneaking after them?"

"Why should we?" It was hard to stifle an annoyed groan.

"Let's make it a contest," the boy's sheepish grin got mischevious, and Estinien narroed his eyes, "about who gets caught by a patrol later. The next one we just follow, and then it begins."

Estinien tilted his head slightly and watched Alberic out of the corner of his eyes. The man was still busy with the trainees, probably reminding them about their posture and other boring things like that. He had to admit, it sounded better than growing roots here in Camp Dragonhead.

Going through the main gate to follow the five knights was not an option, so the two boys opted to do what every boy their age in Ishgard did at least once: they climbed over the walls. If nothing else, Estinien learned that he did not fear heights the slightest and enjoyed hopping around on top of the wall, whereas the other boy looked down with a grim expression. How they made it down he did not quite remember (the urge to jump and see if he had picked up landing techniques from dragoons was tempting, to say the least), but they were following these five men.

The other boy followed them at a safe distance, but Estinien's old skills came back to him, and before he even realised what he did he had followed a path of wild karakuls. He was barely visible, whereas the other boy was still lagging behind - at least until he saw what Estinien was doing. For a split second his eyes went wide, and then he followed him.

"Alright, you definitely win, they almost saw me."

Estinien shrugged, while the other boy looked around nervously.

"We've long passed Witchdrop, but... I dunno where we are exactly."

"We just have to follow the path b--"

Estinien was interrupted by screaming and screeching; both children froze and tried to hide behind a large boulder immediately. It wasn't a dragon attack; Estinien would have expected roaring rather than... squawking? What on Hydaelyn was attacking this scouting party?

He peeked out behind the boulder out of curiousity. It wasn't dragons, as he had assumed, it seemed to be some sort of thin, oversized dodo. Maybe not a dodo, but these things had beaks, and feathers. Whatever these feathered creatures were, they used weapons. Which meant they most likely were beastmen, because common beasts did not use tools. But beastmen were not as dangerous as dragons.

The other boy beside him was shaking in fear, whereas Estinien simply was curious. After Ferndale seemingly no amount of cruelty seemed to shock him anymore, and thus he watched with cold interest as the scouting party was completely annihilated. Once silence (other than beastman squawking) fell over the place, the shaking boy beside him jumped to his feet. Before Estinien even realised what this idiot was going to do, the boy had bolted off blindly, trying to find his way back to Camp Dragonhead.

"Wait--"

Before the word had even properly left his lips there was a thudding sound and the other boy let out a surprised squeak. One of these beastmen's arrows had hit the boy, and even from his current position Estinien could see the arrow's tip came out of the boy's chest. A split second later the boy lay on the ground with his eyes glazed over and mouth still opened in surprise.

Estinien stared. He couldn't properly process what exactly happened there, and the squawking of the beastmen seemed very very distant now. He blinked several times, finally realising what situation he had gotten himself into, and when he looked around he stared straight into the face of one of these creatures, its beak clacking dangerously as it said something to its companions. Before he could even react the one before him grabbed him, and Estinien was carried off as the birdmen retreated back to whence they came.

* * *

 

"That is... That's Ylaine's son..."

One of the soldiers who had caught up with Alberic had stopped just as the former Azure Dragoon had. They had reached the place of where the scouting party and subsequently the children following them had been assaulted. While the soldier was rather pale since he knew Ylaine and her son, Alberic himself simply looked around frantically. Estinien did not seem to be amongst the dead, and the wounded man would have said something like that. Not far from where Ylaine's son was lying there was a boulder, and it was just the perfect size for children to hide behind.

Alberic walked over there, and unsurprisingly enough he found one of Estinien's shoes. The soldier walked over and joined Alberic as he stared at the shoe.

"You left Camp too fast, but the man said that the birdmen took your boy, rather than straight up killing him. Apparently they're planning on something, as far as the man understood. They might be trying to lure us into Natalan."

"... Natalan is a far way off. No, they're trying something else."

* * *

 

He opened his eyes again when the smell of blood became overwhelming. At first he had no idea where it came from, but soon enough Estinien, much to his horror, realised that it came from a dragon lying behind him. Hatred and fear surged through his body as he looked at the creature as it lay sprawled out behind him. When he tried to get close to it, however, something yanked him backwards.

He was tied to a log with both his hands bound so he could not simply untie the rope. The dragon itself was injured terribly (most likely the work of a dragonkiller, Estinien thought this a grim smile) and bound to the ground with several nets. Maybe it was one of these rare ones that did not breathe fire, or it simply lacked the strength to breathe it at this point.

There were no birdmen along, however, and Estinien scoffed. Well, at least he could try to escape this stupid situation now.

"Come on... It's just rope. How hard can this be?"

"... 'Twould be most foolish to assume thou canst escape beast tribe rope that easily, child."

Estinien froze - there was no one here but him, and the voice sounded like it came from within his head. He looked around frantically, realisation and terror both slowly setting in. After a few minutes of looking for any beastmen or Ishgardians, he slowly turned around and stared at the bound creature behind him. His breath caught in his throat as he heard a soft laugh when the dragon blinked at him slowly.

"Worry not, young one. Nidhogg and his brood slaughter thee and thine as thee and thine slaughter him and his, but there is aught to fear from me. Were I not bound I would attempt to free thee, and let thee go whence thee came, or else mine name would not be Mahr Neeh."

His heart almost stopped. Only heretics heard dragons speak - was he a heretic?

Never. He would rather die on the spot than acknowledge this any further, and turned back to look at the rope.

"Beastmen enchantments. Never had I thought t'would be the way I expire."

By now his heart was pounding, blood was roaring in his ears, and Estinien was quite sure he let out a rather pathetic whimper. He was not a heretic, he would never be one, right? He had sworn vengeance, not becoming their ally.

Mahr Neeh - no, no, the dragon! - simply sighed when she - it! - realised that he was not going to react.

"... 'Twas unwise of me to speak to thee. My apologies," she breathed out, letting her head drop back to the ground.

By all means, she was a wyvern, one of the most dangerous aerial assaulters. But what Estinien did not know and would never know, was that Mahr Neeh could not care less about the Dragonsong War. She was not native to Eorzea, but her brood-siblings were, and she had simply travelled through the region not knowing that the war was still going on between man and dragon. As she had rested on a peak, a dragoon had attacked her but she had taken off, flying high and as far away as she could, only to be brought down by Ixal in their assault balloons, which had led to her being kept in this place for an agonising day. She had watched the birdmen drag the unconscious kid near her, and chain him close to her. She had also heard what these creatures were planning - they were curious about something they had seen heretics do.

Of course the familiar scent of Ratatoskr's blood clung to the boy, and she had instantly recognised it. Which meant, a single sip of dragon's blood would spell the end of this boy's human days and turn him into... most likely, an aevis. Most humans turned into an aevis when they renounced their allegiance to their human kin and swore loyalty to Nidhogg and his quest for vengeance.

She could understand the beastmens' curiousity, but it seemed unnecessarily cruel to force a child that obviously had been in the wrong place at the wrong time into this situation.

An hour passed, and Mahr Neeh started hearing an odd sound coming from the child now. He had tried to get rid of the rope, despite its blatantly obvious futility. She turned her head a little - back at home Spoken and dragons got along, as far as Spoken children and hatchlings often living together for at least a few years. It was much for these little mortals, which helped ensure that they trusted their scaled allies. For the hatchlings it was not much time, but it ensured that they would always be happy to help Spoken, not unlike what Bahamut and Tiamat's broods on Meracydia had done with the Spoken race living there, once upon a time before the Allagan Empire had risen.

Mahr Neeh recognised that sound after a few slow heartbeats passed. The child was crying.

"Why... why..."

She blinked - and made up her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wish i had an excuse for this chapter being so horrendously late other than "lazy, writer's block, personal issues" but that really is the entire situation  
> 3.3 being as good as it was also forced me to work over the general outline of the plot to make it fit canon better, which was another bump in this shaky road.
> 
> on that note
> 
> Mahr Neeh - Summer Journey.


	6. Coerthas Central Highlands, bloody

She had always been the most intelligent of her siblings, along with being the oldest. Naturally, "old" was relative here, as her 1,200 years were the equivalent to a young adult barely past 25 summers. Thus, Mahr Neeh started thinking on a plan how to help the child escape. No matter what, her life was forsaken - the injury was too severe, and she heard Mourn calling for her; this Spoken boy on the other hand could live if she somehow found a way to make him less interesting to the Ixal.

The only way to make him less interesthing, however, was him dying. At some point that child, with his silent crying, was bound to get desperate enough to do what the so-called 'heretics' of this land did.

But a single sip of dragon's blood was enough to make that sin of antiquity take over the body and often the mind of the Spoken in question - Thordan and his knights' offspring carried the sin as much as their forefathers did. Ratatoskr's blood and the leftover shreds of her power would burst forth and transform the Elezen in question, leaving aught but Nidhogg's seething hatred in their mind.

It was quite similar to how what Ishgardians called "Azure Dragoons" worked, albeit an Azure Dragoon did not have to transform into a dragon due to their proximity to Nidhogg's Eye. In fact, every few years the guard in front of the part of the Vault where the Eye was kept had to be executed for Nidhogg's relentless whispers of revenge eventually drove the men and women mad. Azure Dragoons, on the other hand, often only served through one of Nidhogg's personal attacks on a settlement before they passed the mantle for respite and for training the next generation, therefore the rate of these people going insane under the constant pressure of Nidhogg's hatred was much smaller than a common guard.

Underneath that layer of Ratatoskr's smell was also Nidhogg's, so she assumed that this child hated dragons for they took at least one important person from his life. Mahr Neeh quite understood that feeling, and she feared that she would have to fuel his fear a little in order for him to survive.

But wasn't survival better for a mortal rather than death, or worse, becoming one of the Horde.

She took a deep breath - even though she hat hatched with that very power, now that she was dying so agonisingly slowly it was hard to call upon the levin that ran through every scale, every fibre of her being. Soon enough, theair sizzled with a familiar spark, and the boy was too busy hopelessly tugging at his bindings.  
"Pray, find it in thee heart to forgive me one day, little one. But for now, sleep."

Even though the shock was pitiful, the boy let out a surprised and scared yelp before he fell unconscious.

* * *

 

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That sound."

"Now's not the time to be messing around, there was nothing, Ser Bale. Ser Bale! Where are you going!?"

* * *

 

Most certainly enough, the Ixal grew wary of the sudden silence and checked the overall situation. As soon as they saw Estinien lying sideways with his eyes closed they assumed that the boy was died, and the displeased clatter of their beaks was heard even by the quickly fading Mahr Neeh. She simply let out a satisfied huff when the beastmen came over and started untying the boy--

Only to be interrupted by a spear searing through the air and one of the birdmen being impaled on it.

Although her sight was wavering and flickering, Mahr Neeh turned her head a little. More mortals, two of them to be precise. One was one of these terribly lanky Elezen that Nidhogg's brood waged war against, and the other was a much sturdier, simpler built Hyur. That man looked positively enraged as he grabbed his somewhat surprised-looking companion's spear and simply took off.

She had heard of Dragoons, the bane of dragons, but she had never seen one. Now she understood why they earned the title 'dragonslayer' - the man traced a perfect arc through the air, drove his spear through yet another birdman, and with the recoil of the land he tore the spear out of the now-dead creature and landed squarely on his feet. Her eyes were growing very heavy by now, and the man was naught but a flurry of black and chainmail, and the screeching of the birdmen became less and less infuriating and shrill with every passing moment. Eventually the sound dimmed and the world got darker and darker, and the last thing Mahr Neeh saw was the man dropping to his knees in a puddle of her blood and Ixali blood to look over the boy.

Relief flooded her for a moment, and then all what remained of her left her numb body.

* * *

 

He felt his blood rushing in his ears. Estinien wasn't moving, it didn't seem like he was breathing either; and all of a sudden the weight of his inability to fend back the dragon came crushing back like a bloody yak on a rampage. The boy almost looked like the day Alberic had found him in the smouldering remains of Ferndale, pale and unmoving. The only thing that was different was that Estinien's eyes were closed, and no blank terror was to be seen in said eyes. Alberic didn't even care there was blood splattered all over him (he had never been a fan of using dives normally designed to shatter a dragon's spine, but these birdmen deserved naught less); he simply wished the boy were still alive.  
Instead he heard a faint murmur, a very faint but also very familiar murmur. Back on the day Ferndale fell victim to the Horde the same voice had roared in his ears and the black wings had almost taken his sight back then, and Alberic pressed his hands on his ears in a futile attempt to shut the ever persistent muttering of Nidhogg out of his mind.

_"'Twas thine fault the boy was orphaned anyway - hadst thou simply pressed on his family might have lived, or if thou hadst simply retreated he would have succumbed to shock and grief and left for whence you mortals go along with his departed family."_

Alberic grit his teeth and shook his head - that infernal dragon would not gain the upper hand here. He had lain down the mantle of Azure Dragoon at his own request the very day of Annaret's funeral, for the never ceasing whispers of the dragon would eventually drive him insane as quite a handful other Azure Dragoons and every guardian of that part of the Vault had done.

_"'Tis this very child that serves thee as reminder that thou are not as strong as thee believe thineself to be - aught more than an emotional crutch. Is that fair, Azure Dragoon? Thou wouldst grant this child but a favour if thou finally let it pass on with its family."_

The dragon had a point, as much as Alberic hated admitting it. Every once in a while, Estinien had stopped somewhere in Foundation or in the Pillars to stare at other people. It were most often pairs of siblings, with or without their parents, that tugged each other along that caught the boy's attention. And for just a moment he looked so very, very sad before he closed his eyes, looked away, and continued following Alberic. That short look of sadness, eyes filled with a melancholy mostly unbefitting of a child barely past 15 summers, made Alberic's heart constrict every time. Estinien wasn't just a Dragonsong War orphan; there were hundreds of them, one with the same terror- or rage-filled existence as the next - Estinien was the sole survivor of an entire village, a burden that not a single other child his age had to bear. No one in Ishgard even remembered Ferndale by now, six years later, not that many people had known the small and remote shepherding village to begin with. The village was nothing but a footnote somewhere in the Lord Commander's notices and the people taking care of war inventory in the Vault.

It wasn't a village that was lost, it was another supply of soldiers that would never reach the Steps of Faith to learn how to kill dragons or be killed by them, either as soldiers going out in a blaze of glory or as simple cannon fodder.

Alberic started shaking. Estinien was dead, six years after he most likely should have died to preserve his sanity, all on his own somewhere out in the Central Highlands. More than a week worth of travel away from where he was born and raised and where his family had lived and died.

"... S... Ser... Alber... ic?"

He dropped his hands which he had still covered his ears with and looked at the child before him. Estinien's eyes were glazed over, as if he was once more living through the shock of losing Ferndale, and he was soaked in blood, but the boy was alive and somehow looking at him through his daze. Alberic's shaking intensified as he bent down to put a stray lock out of Estinien's face and forced a smile.

"Estinien. Oh, Fury, Estinien..."

"... I... I'm... sorry, I..."

"You'll... You'll get your scolding, once we get you bakc to Camp Dragonhead."

Alberic had almost forgotten the soldier who had followed him until here. The man jad just silently walked over to the remains of the birdman Alberic had impaled with the soldier's spear and pulled it out of the corpse, then proceeded over to the dragon who was lying eeriely still. He was poking the golden-scaled creature, but the dragon did not move.

"It's dead, Ser. The damnable birdmen killed a dragon."

"Well, one less for us to worry about. Let us hurry out of here 'ere more of these feathered bastards appear," Alberic said shakily. He picked up Estinien, who was strangely limp and gave him an electric shock, and the men left this part of the blood-soaked Central Highlands as fast as they could.

Mahr Neeh and the scattered dead birdmen lay there forgotten, as if they were a bad dream. Somewhere near the dragon, the soldier had dropped Estinien's second boot.

* * *

 

Upon returning to Camp Dragonhead the first thing Estinien had gotten was grounded. He didn't mind as much as he thought he would, as his mind was fuzzy and his wrists ached. When Alberic and he left for Ishgard again, Estinien simply expected being locked into the house again for an extended period.

He was much more surprised when Alberic simply asked him to come with him one morning, and led him to the training rounds of dragoons. The place was empty save for one other dragoon and a girl about his age, and Alberic greeted the man like an old friend.

"You're restless. Use that restlessness and train yourself in the art of the lance then, boy." Alberic's voice sounded strangely flat as he said that, as if he was talking to a recruit rather than the boy he had saved from the smouldering remains of Ferndale - and Estinien loved it. Finally! Finally he wouldn't be treated like an excessively fragile child anymore!

Naturally, as usual for him, he ignored the girl's advances towards him for days, weeks, even months, before he gave in and listened to her... barely so. She was just kind of giggly and annoying, and he rarely listened to her to begin with, but it was better than having her pester her even outside of the training grounds.

If he had listened to her any better then he would have heard that Heustienne declared herself his new best friend and worst rival just about two days after he finally permitted her to talk to him as he pretended to listen to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ye Olde Dragon is hard, I hope all these thee and thine and thous die in a fire
> 
> I find it kinda funny that I gave someone a heart attack by being on Moogle and somehow ending up in a mostly Italian linkshell (even if I don't speak a single word of Italian). Hi Hydala!
> 
> (honestly if any of you others are on Moogle and bump into Lahen Al'nebar aka me say hi or something, I generally only SEEM busy (apparently a static member of mine said that to my friend); most of the time I'm spacing out and thinking about my bunnies being idiots.)


	7. Coerthas and Ishgard; names

"Estinien, please, for Fury's sake, you look like an unkempt karakul on the run!"

" _Leave me alone!_ "

"You do know that Ser Alberic has a fair point here, I thought Temple Knights weren't supposed to look like that."

"Don't agree with him! This has nothing to do with my hair, it is **not** that hard to understand, Heustienne!"

"Estinien..."

"Shall I slam him to the ground and you and father go get some scissors?"

* * *

 

He had hated the way Heustienne had been admitted to Dragoon training right away, while he had been stuffed into becoming a Temple Knight first. Although he was now much older than back then, it felt like he was back in Ferndale and everyone around him once more praised Freinnoix for his intelligence and cunning. Of course, Estinien knew it was more than petty to compare a woman he just happened to know to his long-dead younger brother, but even with his teeth clenched and after tearing a training dummy into fine shreds he did not feel better.

Eventually he realised he missed his brother still, even after essentially banishing the child from his mind for years. Ever since the Ixal incident he had not thought about Ferndale in detail and only used it to fuel his training.

Now that he was limping back to Ishgard while leaning against the only other survivor of this little Temple Knight expedition into the Western Highlands the fact that Ferndale was razed to the ground and every person back then was dead hit him again. He barely remembered anyone's faces except for Freinnoix's, not even his own parents' faces were spared the fact that his early childhood memories were getting blurrier and blurrier with every passing year in Ishgard. He huffed, although it sounded more like a groan - he was injured, after all.

The person he was leaning into stopped in their tracks and forced him to sit down.

"You've frankly been sounding like you're dying on me for quite a while. The Holy See can wait until we're back - for all we know they might as well consider us roasted or carried off by the dragon you slew. A day or two won't make the karakul any fatter."

Estinien rolled his eyes.

"Of course that's what you Ishgardians think. A day or two can and will make the karakul fatter and might make the difference between its wool being barely enough or being just enough. Then again none of you in the city ever had to handle sheep or let alone shepherd them - you just get the wool."

His voice was a snarl and he was already trying to stand backup (which was admittedly rather hard with how dizzy he was), and his companion only shook his head.

"You're about as stubborn as a sheep, I can give you that. Sit back down ere you hurt yourself," and with surprising force Aymeric forced Estinien to sit back down.

The Highlands were desolate, and there was barely anything in this particular place, other than the looming Holy See on the horizon. He hadn't even noticed how far away from the city they were, and Estinien realised that Aymeric was worried about how they would make it back rather than worried about their overall health.

Night came faster than anticipated, and once they had managed to find a cave to avoid a dragon's gaze in the middle of the night, they calmed down a little. In the dark Aymeric's blue eyes weren't as piercing as they seemed to be in broad daylight, and Estinien instead took to silently listening as his companion started to talk. He spaced out ashe usually did for a few minutes, but something that Aymeric said brought his attention back.

"Can you repeat that, please?"

"Huh? Oh, the... fact that several people would be more than pleased if neither of us returned home?"

"Aye. What do you mean by that?"

Aymeric turned his head away. "Well... much less you than me, to be quite honest. Surely there are people who would be morbidly amused if the man that the former Azure Dragoon raised would not return home, but... The circumstances of my birth left me with enemies rather... high up. Heaven's Ward high up. Which includes several people associated with the High Houses. Frankly, it would be best if I did not return to the Holy See at all, as it would make my life much easier than it has ever been."

Estinien thought he remembered bits and pieces of a conversation that Ser Alberic had had many years ago, somewhere at the Jeweled Crozier, after watching the High Lady of House Fortemps torment a young woman who looked like she might break if someone touched her too harshly. A woman whose body was under attack from the same sickness that had claimed Lady Annaret...

"'Tis fortunate to be born just the son of shepherds, or even the son of adventurers. That way, at least with how Ishgardian society works, you avoid being given a last name. As soon as you are born to someone higher up the social ladder, you are given a last name. And if you are even just accused of being a bastard-born, any last name you might or might not have will get revoked in favour of that... horribly stigmatised last name of 'Greystone'."

Estinien had never really cared about this entire process. He had no last name, he had not been born with one and had never been given one. Many a person asked if he had adapted Ser Alberic's last name, but as far as Estinien was concerned he did not care whether people considered his last name Bale or Sheepfeet - after all, most common-born people who had no last name but needed to have one usually either adapted their birth village's name as last name, or something they considered part of their life.

He stretched. "So? I personally care not whether you are called Greystone or de Durdendaire."

Aymeric laughed. "So I've heard. She might be the most recent trainee, but Lady Heustienne is rather chatty for someone who might become the next Azure Dragoon. Then again, should we return to Ishgard in one piece you might have to finally adapt a last name. Pray tell, what is your birth town? 'Twould be the easiest choice."

The world stopped for a second. Estinien's entire expression must have changed rather suddenly, for Aymeric's eyes went wide.

"B-Beg pardon, I did not mean to offend...!"

The sheer thought of being referred to as 'Estinien of Ferndale' brought back the fact there was no one else but him left at this point. No Freinnoix. No Garandierre from the house next to theirs. No Lissaine, no Gerbard, not a single one of them. Not even the sheep.

"... Anything but my hometown in my last name should we make it back. Sooner would I be called heretic and Estinien of Nidhogg's Brood than be called by the name of my hometown."

* * *

 

The overall satisfaction in this room was choking. Alberic had never quite liked the direction the Heaven's Ward had been going for the past few years, but most of these men seemed utterly satisfied when the Lord Commander declared the entire unit wiped out.

The entire unit... including _Estinien_.

Alberic once more felt bile rise in his throat but choked the thought back down. There was no way Estinien was dead. Maybe lost, for sure, but not dead. There had been no charred remains of him and de Borel's son, but no clues as to where the two of them had disappeared to either. What most people assumed was that these two had been carried off by the dragon their unit had been sent out to kill.

He was quite certain that former High Inquisitor Charibert mouthed something like 'good riddance' in the same moment someone knocked on the door.  
"L-Lord Commander, pardon the interruption but... there are... you need to see this."

"We have not the time for this."

A mere heartbeat later the door opened, and the general mood in the room changed from glowering satisfaction to shock and seething hatred.

Nevertheless, Aymeric de Borel marched in as if he had been merely out on a walk rather than missing for a week straight, but nothing on his face betrayed his actual opinion on this meeting. Slightly behind him, limping, and with his expression completely and utterly sour, was Estinien.

"Pray excuse our lateness, Lord Commander, Ser Bale and the _esteemed_ members of the Heaven's Ward present," de Borel's son bowed a little and every member of the Heaven's Ward present scowled, "but alas neither of us are quite dead. We would very much appreciate if you withdrew... your declaration of death for the both of us and instead declare... the dragon dead..."

The young man's voice started wavering, and his previously proudly gleaming eyes glazed over into a feverish look. He staggered, and before anyone could react Estinien had grabbed de Borel. They both looked very unstable on their feet.

The Lord Commander seemed out of words in this very moment, and Estinien started scowling (which frankly put the disappointed scowl of the Heaven's Ward to shame). He carefully made sure that Aymeric was somehow still standing and turned to look at the Lord Commander. Alberic half expected the young man's voice to be seething, but it was surprisingly neutral for once.

"Aye, 'tis as he said. The dragon is dead - we tracked it down, cornered it in its lair, and killed it."

"...N-No... He did... all of that."

"Didn't I tell you to be quiet?" There it was again, the usual harsh Estinien that Alberic knew, although he was surprised by how Aymeric de Borel did not react to it the slightest. "On our way back to the Holy See we ran into trouble with a group of dragonflies accompanied by a Wyvern, but said group is no longer. The wyvern escaped, but I am quite certain it will never return to Coerthas - alas, as you may have already noticed, Lord Commander, the both of us sustained injuries on top of--"

Estinien, too, staggered. His already pale face had an unhealthy yellow-ish tint by now, and Aymeric was nearly unconscious. As Estinien staggered his grip on de Borel loosened, and both Temple Knights crumpled to the floor.

* * *

 

" _Really_ now, infected wounds?"

"Please, your voice is making my ears ring, pray speak a little... quieter."

Heustienne huffed and crossed her arms.

"Estinien! What would have happened if my worst rival had succumbed to something as trivial as an infected wound? You'd have gone down in shame for a death so pathetic; it wouldn't have been any different than being mauled by a mere beast!"

Estinien rolled his eyes - he was rather grateful the blonde dragoon-in-training cared enough that she came in here, but he would have preferred her not being so loud. It didn't help that somewhere behind him, in the other bed in this infernal infirmary, Aymeric was just lightly chuckling at his predicament. Estinien's ears were ringing as Heustienne went on and on about how he would have been a disgrace to himself, to Alberic, and all of Ishgard if he had died to his infected wounds.

She got so lost in her tirade that Estinien simply turned around and looked at the other Temple Knight, who seemed to be having quite a lot of fun.

"I understand now why you were so cold towards the others - with friends like these you need no one else." Aymeric was still laughing, and Estinien rolled his eyes.

"Quite frankly, I do not know how you would consider her my friend. She is but a nuisance."

"Aww. She cares enough about you to come here and berate you, I would not quite call that a mere nuisance. Mayhap an advanced nuisance."

Heustienne continued her 'shame upon your name' tirade for a while, before she stopped, tapped her chin, and made a soft 'Oh!' noise.

"Once you're fit enough to walk again, Ser Bale and the Lord Commander would like to receive you. _Should_ you survive this, I mean, and if you don't you bet you'll be drowned in dishonour on the eve of your furneral...!"

Estinien groaned and turned around to bury his face in his pillow. Even that did not drown out Heustienne's doomsaying and booming voice, nor did it silence Aymeric's ever so soft chuckle from the other side.

* * *

 

Just as Aymeric had predicted, the topic of said meeting was - much to Estinien's distaste - last names.

Ser Alberic had never officially adopted him, therefore he was not Estinien Bale. Not that he would have ever wanted to be a Bale - the Bales were all Hyuran first and foremost, and while Estinien was grateful to the man he almost considered his father at this point, he did not want to renounce the faded images of his dead faily just yet. Therefore, with almost cold certainty, he looked first at Ser Alberic and then at the Lord Commander.

"Aye, 'tis as you say. I do not have a last name."

"I figured. As confirmed dragonslayer however, you will need one, and be it just the name of your hometown."

"Anything but that, Lord Commander."

He had spent a few sleepless nights over deciding on something, and eventually that old voice in the back of his head came creeping back in - the voice that demanded revenge for Ferndale, blood for the blood of his family. Thus, with his usual stern expression, he looked at the Lord Commander and closed his eyes for a moment.

"If I truly need a surname as you said, then call me Wyrmblood."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Estinien Wyrmblood,
> 
> Please leave Shadow the Hedgehog outside and just accept Bale as your last name, you darned edgelord. You sound like literally every emo in any video game ever.
> 
> With regards,
> 
> Lahen Al'nebar


	8. Coerthas, past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness gracious. I'd like to apologise for the insane delay here, I hit a writer's block pretty hard, I found a new static, and developed an intense writer's block over the lorebook upheaving and trodding over most what I had planned for this fic. It took me ages to come to terms with this and then tear the plot apart and tie things back together as neatly as possible. That wasn't an excerise in fun, let me tell you.

Sometimes, he realised, people were simply made for something different, despite the Holy See being essentially built on a thousand years of war. People who had no love for healing wounds or inflicting them too much themselves, people who had a knack for the crafts in ways that were oft unrelated to the war. Of course, such people also very often went under instead of managing to stay afloat in such dire an economy, but something about this dance this family performed was charming in some way.

Naturally Estinien had seen the father push for something else, especially for his oldest - for a dire moon in the past year had they attempted to teach Stephanivien and Aurvael de Haillenarte the finer arts of warfare. One with a lance and the other with a bow, but both Haillenartes looked plenty uncomfortable as they went about the daily routines their father had demanded for them.

Ironically enough, Stephanivien de Haillenarte was the same age as Heustienne, but the two of them were worlds apart. Where Heustienne was diligent to a fault and ever rushed onwards without thinking too much, Stephanivien was a careful plotter and sleazed about as soon as something bored him; which in itself seemed ridiculous for a 23-year-old highborn. Aurvael on the other hand rarely appeared for the training regimen, oft got dragged in by his father. Those two were completely unable to fight and had simply no desire to do so, although the eldest soon realised he had a knack for fine-tuning bows as well as the machinery he had always so adored. Aurvale on the other hand vanished within half the moon, only to reappear as sudden head of a small trading company with an airship. It was impressive in its own regard, and Aymeric looked on with flabbergastion as Count Haillenarte begrudgingly let Aurvael do as he pleased.

"You have to understand," Alberic had said that evening, "that he was there, all those years ago. Everyone assumed he would take the front lines but he stayed behind and diligently made sure that everything and everyone was cared for. We would have suffered much greater losses--"

He had stopped there as Estinien furrowed his brow while standing up. Of course the losses were minimal amongst the people sent out to take care of the recently awoken Nidhogg. Estinien wasn't even sure how many people had lived and thus died in Ferndale, even if he remembered fuzzily that Freinnoix had so very proudly proclaimed he knew exactly how many people lived in the village.

Another half a moon later they watched in disbelief as the oldest Haillenarte son simply strode off after proudly claiming he had managed to find a way to make the dragonkillers hoisted on the Steps of Faith even more effective and that he needed to oversee this work at Skysteel Manufactory.

On the other hand, several people started training as knights, and with Aymeric thus promoted to Commander of a unit Estinien felt his heart swell with pride (and maybe something else).

On the other hand, Estinien soon realised that he was made for warfare and naught else, and much better off doing things on his own than with an immense group of people - crowds made him uncomfortable. The spear was like an extension of his arm, and with every passing day he sharpened his body into a perfect machine, not unlike what the oldest son of Haillenarte did to the dragonkillers.

Thus, it came of little surprise that within a week of the third astral moon of this year, he finally got granted his only wish - he was to be tested as Heustienne had been, to see whether he was worthy of bearing the title of Knight Dragoon or not.

* * *

 

He had to admit he was just trying to flee Alberic's ever present doubts and worries about the upcoming test of skill by accepting this short mission into the Western Highlands. It was also an opportunity to spend some time with Aymeric, seeing as it was a simple recon mission - they were to scout some dragon-infested place, just the two of them.  
Estinien had considered it odd that Aymeric, being promoted to Commander and being one of the two people with the skill required to become Lord Commander, accepted such a simple task. He quickly learned that Aymeric too was fleeing the ever pressuring gazes of people, but especially that of his competitor. Once there was enough distance between them and the Holy See, both men relaxed considerably and even their step seemed to become lighter after a while. They were thoroughly enjoying this little bout after a day and a night, and started talking - they certainly hadn't in a while, with Estinien being constantly busy with his training and preparations and Aymeric being engaged with the work a commander did.

It felt like the time after Estinien had killed his first dragon with the help of Aymeric again, just the two of them and nothing but the hills and cliffs of the Highlands stretching out ahead of them. Aymeric even took to humming a little as long as they were on Ishgardian-Coerthan soil.

As soon as the first dragons started appearing in the distance he naturally stopped doing that, and both men were alert at any given time.

At least, Estinien would have been... but something started making him nervous. It was a gut feeling of strange familiarity as they passed hills and caves while sneaking through the stronghold. There were no visible dragon nests, and most dragons were asleep or too far away to notice the two humans sneaking through their territory. The smell of wet foliage that had been burned brought tears to Estinien's eyes - a smell that haunted him, albeit it was mostly wet hay and burnt flesh in his dreams.

That night, in a small cave, neither of them said anything and Estinien simply stared outside the entire time. Aymeric knew by now when to talk to Estinien and when not to, and this was one of the cases where the other would nearly immediately start avoiding the topic or would not answer at all. They slept in shifts, and Estinien grew more and more uneasy - there was something, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

The next day it was raining, which slowed them down a little. Aymeric admitted that this area they were in was barely charted, especially ever since the dragons had taken over the area; whatever people had lived here and whatever trade routes there had been were in disuse by now. Estinien, on the other hand, stared across the hills with a blank gaze while his heart started pounding more and more with every step he took.

On top of yet another of these infernal hills that made his blood run cold, Aymeric stopped.

"Oh, Halone..."

Estinien, who had been dragging his feet (why on Hydaelyn were they as heavy as Ishgardian steel by now?), stopped some way behind his partner.

"What's the matter, commander?"

Aymeric looked over his shoulder, and Estinien expected a slightly offended look - Aymeric hated being called commander despite his position - but the knight looked at his companion slightly shocked.

"There's a settlement down there."

"A... settlement?"

"A village, by the looks of it, but it is entirely in ruins. This area has been in the claws of dragons for so long that we had no idea there was a--"

"A... village..."

"Estinien?"

"Village..."

Every step took more energy out of him than killing any dragon thus far ever had, and time seemed to stretch on endlessly until he reached Aymeric's side to look down the ravine. His sight was already swimming, and he was almost certain he could smell the rancid fumes of that day again. Barely even ten seconds after he finally stood beside Aymeric he crumpled to his knees with wide eyes. The lack of any sort of wildlife and the years and years that had passed since made it hard to distinguish it from any settlement that had been razed to the ground by dragons, but even after all this time his body seemed to remember the desperate dash he had done back then. It was little more than an assorted colllection of ruins...

The ruins of _Ferndale_.

So much time had passed, and the ruined town had fallen into complete disuse and was buried underneath soot and discarded dragon scales, the broken ruins having crumbled even further by now, and once the smell of burning wet haystacks left him all he smelled was soot and mold. He had never know Ferndale was that far away from Ishgard, nor that the territory it was in had since fallen to dragons and that no attempts had been made to take it back since - it was a wasteland, and hard to defend from dragons - humans on the other hand had a hard time attacking a village as comfortably nestled between mountains, hills, and a giant cliffside.

Only now did he realise Aymeric was calling his name and shaking him, and Estinien slowly closed his eyes. Just staring at this had given him a headache and made him nauseous from memory and guilt alone, and he knew that he and Aymeric had been sent to scout out places like this in particular. In case there were survivors, hermits or heretics amongst such ruins, of course, and Estinien knew what was his duty, but he was not quite sure if his body would agree with such a task. Indeed, he felt bile rise and looked at Aymeric's worried face before keeling over to the other side and relieving himself of what little he had eaten thus far.

"... Estinien?"

The only answer Aymeric got was a retching sound between shudders. He had seen many survivors of dragon attacks, it was to be expected in the Brume, and many of them reacted strongly to past traumata by seeing new arrivals who came in with fresh burns and tears and scars or missing limbs. Many of them keeled over and threw up, and like Estinien did at this point they started to sob.

* * *

 

"They sent them _where_!?"

"With all due respect, he volunteered--"

"You know where he's from! You know how he didn't speak for a year after we dragged his unresponsive unconscious body out of these smouldering ruins! You were _there_ , Count Haillenarte, _for Halone's sake_!"

Alberic had not intended to crash his fist on the table, nor speak as loudly as he did, but as his fist hit the wood everyone in the room cringed. Heustienne, who had been excitedly chattering about her rival and friend to the two other teens who had but recently been granted knighthood, and three pairs of eyes turned to look at the adults.  
The former Azure Dragoon and her beloved teacher didn't look as angry as he sounded - as Chlodebaimt then noted, silently, into her and Haurchefant's ears, he looked haunted, as if something about those two being sent into this region brought up memories the man had rather wished buried. Heustienne knew her teacher, though not as good as her father and Estinien did, and what his expression meant she had no idea.

Alberic, on the other hand, was suddenly hit with guilt he had tried to bury underneath trying to raise this child as well as he could - Annaret had, back then, correctly assumed that he had more than just the role of the saviour in this tale although he had never told her or anyone else about it. Especially not Estinien, who kept himself awake with relentless training until his limbs were sore and until his knuckles were bloody, until every fibre of his all-too-young body screeched in agony and made him near unable to move - but he kept on moving anyway, near blind from pain, but he kept moving. It was so very obvious this boy (' _No_ ', Alberic corrected himself, ' _this young man_ ') had ambitions for the title of Azure Dragoon so he could finally start the hunt for Nidhogg that he had declared at some point in his life.

Count Baurendouin de Haillenarte sighed and shrugged. "I had forgotten, Ser Alberic, and 'tis the truth of it."

* * *

 

He almost expected undead like they existed in tales from merchants who had gone beyond Coerthas to the other City States to jump them, tear them apart while demanding an explanation where he had been. Of course no such thing happened, and no matter how much Estinien willed some dead phantom of his childhood to rise and drag him to the grave they had been refused, no such thing happened. In fact, nothing happened as he followed Aymeric slowly, his eyes downcast and avoiding the places where he had stumbled over dead bodies in the past. It wasn't until they reached a certain part of the village that Estinien cringed and grabbed Aymeric by the arm. Of course the commander stopped - he had tried in the last three hours to get something other than a dry silent sob out of Estinien, but to no avail. Being stopped by him now had to mean something.

"What's the matter?"

Estinien opened his mouth but nothing more than a pathetic small croak escaped him. His fingers dug into the chainmailed arm he had grabbed and he closed his mouth only to shake his head furiously and with closed eyes. He wished he hadn't seen where Aymeric's aimless wandering was leading them.

"Estinien...?"

He shook his head again, begging Halone to translate or somehow forward the message "don't go there" to Aymeric. The knight sighed - he didn't really understand what his strangely silent friend wanted from him, despite all they had been through. He only knew Estinien as stoic and stubborn and while not talkactive he certainly made sure his rare quips were heard; this man might as well have been a complete stranger.

"Come now, the longer we stay out in the open, the more likely we are to be spotted. The sun is starting to set, and we ought to at least find somewhere with cover, it doesn't look like the rain will stop any time soon."

' _So your goal is the cliff, then_ ,' Estinien thought and grimaced. He wished he were blind, or at least able to phase this particular way out. He had walked it countless times with Freinnoix, seeing as the cliffs were stable and not in danger of falling, and children were oddly endeared with staying underneath these massive stone walls that protected them. Estinien had been, too, and he never minded going there with his younger brother.

He swore if he stopped focusing on who pulled him along he might not have been able to tell Aymeric apart from a ghastly apparition of his long deceased younger brother - it thankfully were the obvious differences that kept Estinien within reality. Aymeric was too tall to be Freinnoix, and the wavy black hair was nothing like the white hair his brother had when he was alive.

Not that Estinien remembered much else of his little brother, other than the occasional character trait or quirk. The rest slowly sunk into the haze that filled his nightmares. Names, faces, even most of what the house looked like had long since vanished from his memories and been replaced with Ishgard, even if he felt little to no love for the place.  
Aymeric dragged them beneath the cliff, both men more exhausted than they would admit as they hurriedly simply settled down next to a massive coil of stones. A strange pile, Estinien noted through his dizzy mind, and Aymeric simply slumped against it.

"I just wish you would speak to me; I know not what to even say. Well, whatever my desires, we'll have to spend the night here. I promise we will get out of here as soon as we can tomorrow."

Aymeric sighed, but it sounded way too loud. Estinien recalled children younger than him, together with Freinnoix, that were trying to see if yelling against the stone wall would make their voices echo. Of course, as they learned quickly, that was not the case.

So why was Aymeric's breath seemingly repeated by the wall he had sighed against...?

Estinien squeezed his eyes shut and patted his cheeks with his cold, clammy hands. Something was off here, and it was not the sudden return to his village. No, something about the wall was odd... but _what_?

It took him several heartbeats to realise what was off.

_'The stone pile!'_

In the same moment as he tried to catch Aymeric's attention without his voice, the 'stone pile' uncoiled and unfolded leathery wings. It had been breathing, deep breathing, that he had heard and not Aymeric's echoing sigh - the knight had been leaning against a sleeping dragon.

The creature unrolled as Aymeric and Estinien froze in terror (was it yawning?), they watched with wide eyes as the dragon stretched and finally swung its head down to them. Just for a moment Estinien begged Halone to let this sleep-drunken dragon turn away, but the creature's eyes widened all of a sudden and it opened its maw with a cry.

_"Mahr Neeh?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Lorebook. Simple, really. It caused immense issues with what I had planned and done so far, from when Ferndale fell (it fell /earlier/ in Eyes than it did in canon) to Heustienne's age (there's no way she's 9 years younger than Estinien, what the hell... she certainly isn't here!) to things I haven't even properly touched yet but that will be touched.
> 
> 2) Plain and simple, I tripped over the plot several times trying to accomodate canon. That can't be done properly now anymore, and it took me some time to accept that (I write either with the premise of being an AU, completely and embracing the fact it is; or as canon-compliant as I can while spicing it with headcanons and slight canon subversions to suit that. Eyes started as the latter type, it took me some time to get to terms with it now being the former).
> 
> 3) The resulting writer's block blocked me (ha) from properly prying the plot apart and tying things back together for them to work in this AU. The dragoon tryouts were a little later, I tripped over what I had planned thanks to the lorebook throwing me off.
> 
> 4) Several attempts at going full AU failed as I tripped over the untied plot - one draft was about something whimsical regarding to spring, introducing a completely different set of people to the fic than they do here (here it's the first mentions of the Haillenartes and Haurchefant as well as... that dragon we'll learn about next chapter; one draft had Haurchefant, Francel, Emmanellain and Laniaitte; yet another had a few of the Heaven's Ward with most prominently Zephirin...
> 
> BUT ANYWAY
> 
> any questions about this can be forwarded to my tumblr, aethercurrent. ofc nothing that'll be touched in future chapters, but man I struggled to ground everything and continue without crashing face first into a brick wall;;; u_u

**Author's Note:**

> Levelled an alt, spoke to Alberic on a whim... and learned his last name was Bale. That completely went over my head because I never spoke to him on Lahen when I was a bard, and only started when I started levelling dragoon...
> 
> If there's any missing spaces between words I apologise, I checked this to my best ability but I'm still not 100% adjusted to this new keyboard/the new laptop entirely, haha...


End file.
